


Fourteen Conversations Thursday Had About Morse

by umbrafix



Series: Life Bonds [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random missing scenes from The Threat of Falling (the one where Thursday and Morse get life bonded and wade through lots of angst and comfort). Featuring: Win, DeBryn, Mason Gull (Daniel Cronyn), Bright, Sam and Joan, and Thursday himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve had this on my mind for quite a while; Thursday wanted a turn. These are just random picks that came to mind. Needless to say, this won’t make much sense if you haven’t read the first fic.
> 
> I may have to change the title depending how many I actually end up writing, this is just the plan ;)
> 
> Warning: Please see end notes

**1\. Thursday**

 

“You’re too old for this,” Thursday told himself sternly in the bathroom mirror. His reflection was half-obscured by steam, the section he’d wiped clean quickly fogging over again.

 

“Dad?” came a pleading voice from outside, and his hand jerked, still holding the razor. He swore, but a quick check showed he’d managed not to cut himself.

 

Raising his voice he called, “Hold your horses. Won’t be a minute.”

 

Footsteps trailed off down the hall, somehow managing to sound aggrieved. Thursday snorted. “Should have got out of bed earlier then, shouldn’t you, Sam?” he muttered.

 

He wiped the mirror down again, and resumed the quick, neat swipes of his razor. It was funny, he thought, the way you saw yourself in the mirror every day but didn’t really take any notice. He couldn’t help but look now; the hair threaded with grey, the bags under his eyes, the ever present weariness on his face.

 

His eyes, however, had a new spark in them.

 

“You’re too old for this,” he repeated. “A fancy for your bagman, at your age?” He paused in his motions, and eyed himself critically. “What are you thinking, Fred? He’s handsome enough, but you’re not one to have your head turned. God, how Win would laugh at you if she knew.”

 

He thought of the long, lanky lines of his erstwhile bagman, and his fingers twitched. He finished the last smooth stroke of the razor, and put it down on the sink.

 

“And that’s another thing,” he said firmly. “The touching. That has to stop. Lad near jumped out of his skin yesterday.”

 

And oh, how Thursday’s mind had dwelled on that since, on the skin so warm and soft under his fingertips. His hand had reached out again, unbidden, not a minute later, and only Morse moving away had saved Thursday from embarrassing himself again.

 

He gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and leaned forward, staring himself down. “What are you thinking?” he growled. “Idiot. I know you’ve always liked him, but for God’s sake don’t _touch_ him!”

 

The thud of footsteps sounded in the hall again, and Thursday reached for the flannel to wipe his face down. “Idiot,” he mumbled into the cloth.

 

“Dad!” It was Joan this time, and he sighed and straightened himself up.

 

“Alright, alright,” he said, opening the door wide and catching her cheek in a kiss as he moved past her. “Good morning to you too!”

 

She flashed a quick smile at that. “Morning, Dad!” and was in the bathroom in a flash.

 

\--------------

 

**2\. Win**

 

“I think you’re coming down with something,” Win murmured, lifting the back of her hand to Thursday’s forehead as they stood together in the kitchen on Wednesday night.

 

“Now, love,” he started.

 

“You’ve been acting off all week,” she said, overriding him. “And last week you said you thought the new boy, Morse wasn’t it, was ill? You could have picked it up from him.”

 

“Don’t think I’ve got what Morse has got,” Thursday said, and then frowned. The lad hadn’t been acting half strange all week, and was definitely sickening for something. He seemed to be in a daze half the time. It made Thursday want to reach out and…

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Well, what do you have, then?”

 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. Perhaps slightly more snappishly than he would normally, and her blink of surprise somehow only wound him up tighter. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

 

“You just seem upset.”

 

Annoyed, more like, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It had settled on him like a cloud in the late afternoon, a restless, irritable feeling that had him grouching around the station before heading off to interview a suspect. He’d thought coming home would sort him out, but the usual peace he felt here had failed to materialise. Come to think of it, he’d felt a bit like this over the weekend too.

 

Maybe he _was_ coming down with something.

 

“I’m fine,” he said again, but this time he modulated his voice. He’d sworn solemn promises to himself to never speak to Win in anger, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I’m sorry, love, I’ve no idea what’s got me all worked up.”

 

“Not a case?”

 

“No,” he sighed. “We’ve not got much on at the moment; it’s all plodding stuff. They’ve got poor Morse doing filing. It’ll drive the lad out of his skull.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and he reached out to loop his arms around her.

 

“Bright as a button, that one. This great big mind, so full of ideas I think he’ll explode sometimes. Might be a bit lacking in common sense though; had his head stuck in books for too long.”

 

Win managed to read his mind, as usual, and cut to the heart of the matter. “I’m sorry he’s not your bagman anymore, Fred.”

 

Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her forehead. “I feel guilty,” he confessed. “It was how I convinced him to stay on, and now it’s been snatched away from him. Not that he doesn’t need to brush up on his policework, mind, but he could have done that under my care. I’d got used to thinking of him as-“

 

 _Mine_.

 

The thought was so shocking, so sudden and so  _apt_ , that Thursday ground to a halt.

 

“I know, but you can still work with him, can’t you?” Win carried on, unaware that Thursday’s thought processes had completely stalled. “Guide him along. You said it won’t be long until he passes his Sergeant’s, and then you can have him back again.”

 

He made some small noise of agreement, but the word  _mine_  was still resonating so strongly through him that he could barely pay attention.

 

“You alright, love?” she asked, drawing back.

 

“What? Oh, yes. Just got a bit of a headache.” It was true, now that he’d said it. And not just a bit of one. “Maybe that’s why I’m in a bad mood.”

 

“Hmm,” she said, and looked him over, unconvinced. “Well, only a couple more days until the weekend, and then you can have a nice relax.”

 

Thursday huffed. “Oh yes, relax is it? With taking Sam to the footie, and doing the shed, and painting the-“

 

“Don’t you start,” she said with a laugh. Then more seriously, “If you’re not well then those things will keep, love. You know that.”

 

“I know that,” he repeated with a smile, and bent to kiss her.

 

He really did have the most wonderful wife.

 

\------------

 

**3\. Sam and Joan (and Win)**

 

“I like the new one,” Joan said over dinner, and for the life of him Thursday didn’t know if she was talking about a program on the telly, or her mum’s latest recipe, or… “You should bring him round again.”

 

Which gave him pause. “You wouldn’t be talking about Constable Morse, would you?”

 

“He’s alright,” Sam said, mid-bite.

 

Thursday eyed him consideringly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he ordered, seconds before Win started to. She gave him a small amused look.

 

“More than alright,” Joan said smartly, and there was the slightest hint of sly teasing there. Thursday felt his cheeks flush hot, was about to protest, before he realised that she wasn’t teasing  _him_.

 

“Is that right?” he managed dryly, and then hid his face in his glass of ale.

 

“A bit quiet, like I said,” she carried on. “But he’s got promise. And very nice eyes.”

 

Thursday waited for Win to reprimand her, but when he looked up he found his wife smiling softly. She saw his glance and raised an eyebrow. “Well, he seemed like a sweet boy,” she said defensively.

 

And the wrongness of his wife defending the bagman,  _former bagman_ , that Thursday seemed to be developing inconvenient feelings for, as a possible choice for his daughter, beggared all belief.

 

\-------------

 

**4\. Thursday**

 

“I’m just nipping out to the pub.”

 

Thursday had called it over his shoulder as he hoofed it out the door, so there was no chance of being intercepted by Win’s scolding or ‘you should be resting if you aren’t feeling well.’

 

He’d been off his game again this morning, that was true, but now he felt odd in a completely different way.

 

Seeing Morse at his front door on a Sunday had knocked him for six.

 

There was no way that the lad had needed to come and see him about those files. Thursday couldn’t make head or tails of his behaviour; not just today but in the last week.

 

Not that his own had been any better.

 

The tips of his ears burned in the cold air as he walked along, unwittingly remembering pinning Morse up against his office door a couple of days before.  _What had he been thinking?_

 

Even if he could excuse tucking the lad’s shirt in, write that off as teaching him a lesson, there was no earthly way he could rationalise the way he’d touched him afterwards. There had been more than a few times, recently, when he’d only realised he’d been touching Morse after he’d stopped; Morse’s neck, arms, hands, even his  _leg_. But to find himself standing there stroking the lad’s stomach and hip, leaning his head forward to  _kiss him_ … Well.

 

No, his own behaviour was far worse than Morse’s. And, more importantly, completely inexplicable.

 

“It’s not just a fancy, is it, Fred?” he muttered to himself, and then glanced around to check no one was near. The street was quiet; unsurprising for a chilly, grey Sunday afternoon. He was on his own.

 

“No,” he said, “I didn’t think so. But I think you might know what it is.”

 

He’d known a couple of blokes in the army; went on about their life bonded partners for  _hours_. How obsessed with them they were. How they  _couldn’t stop touching them_.

 

“Jesus.”

 

It could be all in his mind, of course. That was what he’d been telling himself.

 

“It’s not, you know it’s not.”

 

This was something entirely beyond his understanding.

 

On the one hand, it was reassuring that there might be a reason for how he was feeling. How he was acting. On the other… “ _Morse_. Christ.”

 

He’d have to talk to the lad, clear this up somehow. Morse was full of book learning, he probably knew ten times more about this than Thursday. If he knew what was going on that is, if he hadn’t been in just as much denial as Thursday himself had been.

 

Still, better Morse than some other random bloke off the street. At least Morse was a reasonable, dependable sort.

 

 

\-------------

 

**5\. DeBryn**

 

“Detective Inspector Thursday speaking.”

 

“Good Morning, Inspector.”

 

Thursday eased back behind his desk, and cradled the receiver between ear and shoulder. “Dr DeBryn. Anything for me?”

 

“Yes, quite.” The pathologist updated him on the body found that morning, the one Morse had been called out for. Thursday hmmed when appropriate, but was slightly bewildered as to why DeBryn had called when he wasn’t offering more information than Morse would have gathered while he was there. “I was also wondering about Morse,” DeBryn finished.

 

“Morse?” Thursday prompted after a moment of silence.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, what about him?” Thursday asked irritably, after rolling his eyes.

 

“After you mentioned the other day that he’d not been well, I took the liberty of observing him.” Alarm bells started ringing in Thursday’s mind, and he raised his hand to grip the receiver tightly. “He seemed… not himself.”

 

“No?” Thursday said tightly.

 

“I think you might need to have a chat with him.”

 

Thursday cleared his throat. “I was planning to. This morning, in fact.”

 

“Ah, excellent. I shall leave you to it then. Inspector.”

 

“Doctor.”

 

\----------

 

**6\. Cronyn/Miller/Gull**

 

There was no doubt that Gull was a raving lunatic. No doubt that he’d go to jail for life with his confession, whatever nonsense he was spouting about good behaviour. But someone still had to take his statement, make things formal, and after what Gull had said on the rooftop Thursday wasn’t going to let that be anybody but him.

 

He didn’t want more gossip about Morse making the rounds; the lad had it hard enough as it was. And damned if Thursday didn’t care far more than he should.

 

“Well,” he said, taking a seat on the other side of the interview table. Gull was cuffed to it, looking innocuous and drab in the clothes they’d put him in. An officer was standing by outside the door, and Thursday had closed off the observation room. It was just the two of them.

 

The possibility of pounding his fists into Gull swam in front of his eyes, and he clamped down hard on it.

 

“Well,” Gull replied, soft spoken and smug. He’d certainly pulled the wool over their eyes, made them all dance to his tune.

 

He was quick enough to confess to it all now though, formally, to give details on how and where and who. Thursday wrote down everything, especially facts they hadn’t known; Gull seemed to have a need to boast, which was always useful when wrapping things up.

 

Gull was  _proud_. Thursday found it sickening.

 

“Why did you choose me?” he asked abruptly. “All that stuff you said on the roof – Scarpia, and Tosca?”

 

Gull’s smile was cold. “Went a bit over your head, did it,  _Inspector?_ ”

 

Thursday kept his face impassive. He’d been interviewing nasty little blighters for too many years to let this one get to him now.

 

“It was so unexpectedly fitting, you see. My interest was in Endeavour, of course-“ Thursday’s hands clenched into tight fists at the bastard’s use of Morse’s given name “-but how apt, to have a policeman who interfered and coveted where he shouldn’t. Morse makes an excellent Tosca.” Gull laced his fingers together on the table, and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know the story at all though? Pity.”

 

Thursday kept his gaze stony, and his mouth shut.

 

The lack of response didn’t seem to faze Gull, but his look turned speculative. “I can tell you’re still in the early stages,” he said. “I remember what those feel like. I thought if it was early enough, perhaps it could be transferred. He’s a fine creature, your Morse. A _delicacy_.”

 

“He’s a man, with a mind and will of his own,” Thursday said with some disgust. Gull talked about the lad like he wasn’t even human, like he was a thing to be bandied about.

 

“And what would it be like?” Gull whispered, voice low enough that Thursday had to lean in a bit. “To influence that will? To control it.” He closed his eyes, as though the mere thought brought him pleasure, and this time Thursday’s inward fight not to punch him was of longer duration.

 

“He’d never let you,” Thursday said firmly. “And you’ll never,  _ever_ , get near him again.”

 

Gull’s eyes cracked open again. “So protective,” he murmured in amusement. “But you haven’t even fucked him yet.”

 

The crudeness of it took Thursday’s breath away, and he could do no more than glare mutely.

 

“No,” and now Gull laughed. “And perhaps you never will. Perhaps he’s too scarred, after all. I will, though,” and now it was Gull who leaned in, so that their faces were only two feet apart, and leered. “I’ll fuck him while he begs, fuck him until he  _screams_ -“

 

With a roar, Thursday had shoved the table aside - Gull’s arms dragged with it to leave him half sprawled off the chair - and had him by the shoulders. He shook him so hard the man’s head snapped back and forth, but stopped after a few seconds at the maniacal laugh which issued forth.

 

“You’re bloody deranged,” he breathed, and forced himself to let go and take three steps back. Gull was watching him closely, eyes glinting; tense in an awkward half crouch with his arms forcibly extended in their cuffs.

 

Another step back, and Thursday forced his panting breath to slow.

 

“And yet you’re the one acting like a savage,” Gull said after another few seconds, voice smooth as butter.

 

Thursday turned to leave, reaching up a hand to brush down his hair, smooth down his rumpled jacket. Gull was insane, that was all. Thursday shouldn’t have let it get to him.

 

“You don’t deserve him,” Gull called out mockingly after him, and Thursday slammed the door shut on the words.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is what amounts to a rape threat in this chapter. If you want to avoid it, don't read number 6 (it's pretty near the end, you can also just stop reading when Gull starts being a jerk).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These three take place immediately after the end of Fugue

**7\. Win**

 

“I’ve got something I need to talk over with you,” Thursday said slowly, and hadn’t known he was going to say it until the words were out there.

                

“Yes, dear?” Breezy, unconcerned; just another normal night. She knew he’d had a tough case, knew he’d been a bit off for the last couple of weeks, but that was all. Nothing had changed, for her.

 

Everything had changed for him.

 

“Here, come and sit down.” He beckoned her over, and she came and sat beside him on the sofa, hands laced loosely in her lap. He put an arm around her, rested his cheek on her hair and stared blindly across the room.

 

They were still affectionate with each other, though not as much as they used to be, and it was startling to realise that he’d touched Morse more in the last two weeks than he had his wife.

 

Perhaps not so startling.

 

A minute passed, and her head moved under his as she tried to look up at him. “Fred?” she asked, a little uncertain now, and he suddenly realised he was almost crying, moisture gathered and cooling at the corners of his eyes.

 

He swallowed, hard, and cleared his throat before he spoke, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “Just got a bit of news, love. It’s… well, I don’t know what to make of it, to be honest, but we’ll get through it, alright?”

 

Her body went still against him, frozen, and then she spoke, hushed and afraid. “What is it? What’s happened?”

 

She thought someone had died, he realised with sudden clarity, or that someone was terribly ill. “Everyone’s alright,” he reassured her. “It’s nothing like that.”

 

She settled a little against him, and patted a hand against his chest. He remembered a long time ago, when her touches had stirred something in him. Now there was just absent fondness, and old comfort. “What then?” she asked, more curious.

 

Clearing his throat again, he decided there was no possible way of breaking this gently. “I’ve, ah, found out I’ve got a bond. With someone at the station.”

 

“What?” she asked, all astonishment and disbelief, and drew back to look at his face. Evidently, searching his eyes didn’t provide the answer she was seeking. “You’re serious,” she said in a hushed voice. “Fred?”

 

“Yes.” He paused, and wished he’d scripted this out a bit more beforehand. “I didn’t realise, not until a couple of days ago, and nor did he. It’s why you’ve noticed I’ve been out of sorts for the last few weeks.”

 

“He?” she mumbled, still catching up. “Out of sorts? Oh,  _Fred!_ ” And then, proving that his wife was eerily knowledgeable about everything, she said, “It’s Morse, isn’t it?”

 

He nodded, unable to speak.

 

She nodded in return, and they sat in uncomfortable silence.

 

“What now?” she asked eventually, bravely, and he took her hand and squeezed it gently.

 

“I’ve got exactly the same question. Let me find out a bit more, see what can be done, eh? No need to worry just yet. I just… it would have felt wrong, to keep it from you.”

 

She caught his eye, and the moment was heavy with a lot of unsaid things.

 

\-------------------

 

**8\. Bright**

 

It wasn’t as though Thursday couldn’t have accessed Morse’s file without talking to the chief super, but it rather sounded as though Bright had some details which Thursday needed.

 

‘ _Have you talked to Bright?_ ’ Morse had asked, and ‘ _he asked Cronyn to talk to me_ ,’ and God, what a nightmare of an idea that had been.

 

The image of Morse’s pale face, shocked at Cronyn’s, _Gull’s_ , obsession - at his words, his  _desire_ \- was haunting Thursday. It felt almost physically painful to know that this deranged killer had identified with Morse over something which had apparently ended badly for the lad; had stalked him and intended to _possess_ him. The thought of Gull’s words, aimed to provoke, yes, but undoubtedly also true, when he’d told Thursday that he planned to…

 

It still made Thursday’s vision white out to think about it, sent boiling, possessive rage running through his veins. He didn’t want anyone else touching Morse. And that thought was terrifying in and of itself.

  

“Do you have a minute, sir,” he asked upon entering Bright’s office. He was waved in, Bright rising from his desk to go and stand by the window.

 

“Hell of a business, this, Thursday.”

 

Thursday nodded, but knew Bright wouldn’t see it with his back turned. “It’s got everyone shaken up.”

 

Bright nodded. “And Morse? How’s the lad doing?”

 

Thursday hadn’t actually spoken to Morse much in the last day – not since their conversation on the rooftop. It might have been coincidence, or it might have been mutual avoidance. The few glancing touches which Thursday had managed had made him feel almost sick with guilt.

 

All of this time he’d been touching Morse, almost compulsively; each time chastising himself afterwards for impulses he should have been able to control. He’d tried to cut it down though, tried to stop.

 

Now it turned out there was a reason he hadn’t been able to control them. Now he found out that Morse was getting sick when Thursday didn’t touch him. His struggle for self-control had left the lad suffering.

 

If only Morse had bloody said something.

 

Thursday found himself swearing a lot inside his head these days.

 

“He’s fine, sir. It was all a bit of a shock, I think.”

 

It was surprising Bright had asked about him, given his usual apparent dismissal of Morse. Some of the reason for that came out in the cautiously worded, “Did he say anything about why he had that picture of Morse? Gull, that is? Why he targeted him?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Thursday decided that you had to give a little to get a little. And he really couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opening if he’d tried. “He said some things, sir, on the roof. Something about Morse having a broken bond? He thought it made them alike.”

 

Thursday didn’t say anything about Gull’s idea that Morse could form another bond with him. That Morse was special, for being able to form another bond. He didn’t know what to think about that, but certainly didn’t want to share it. And didn’t want to share about the bond between himself and Morse yet. Not while he understood everything so little.

 

“Hmm,” Bright said, and then turned to catch Thursday’s eye. “That was… I gave him Morse’s file.”

 

“Oh?” Thursday said, and managed to keep his voice politely inquisitive.

 

“There were… some irregularities in Morse’s history, you see.” Bright paused for a moment. “Obviously you already know about the broken bond, from Gull.”

 

“I’ll admit I don’t really know what that means, sir. It’s one of the reasons I came to talk to you today.”

 

“Yes,” muttered Bright thoughtfully. “Yes. Well, sit down.”

 

They both took a seat in the armchairs at the side of the office, and Bright rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, stroking his fingers over his mouth.

 

“His file’s a bit short on details, unfortunately, but it was enough to send up flags. And with you having him - not even a sergeant - as a bagman, I needed to look into it.”

 

“And?” Thursday asked tersely.

 

Bright let out a gust of a sigh, and avoided his eyes. “Turns out Morse had a breakdown a few years ago, after some girl broke it off with him. He was seen by a number of doctors and psychiatrists, but they couldn’t sort him out. He was deemed unstable. Wasn’t fit to work,” he added when Thursday opened his mouth to object.

 

“Obviously he’s better now, though,” Thursday said, voice rough.

 

“Is he? He goes off half-cocked a lot, doesn’t he? Ignores important steps in police procedure. Carshall-Newton said he suffered from an inability to focus; it makes him unsuitable for higher level police work, Thursday. It’s why I wanted him kept on general duties.”

 

Thursday forced himself to take a mental step back, to not react on instinct. “Whatever he was like after the problem, sir, I think he’s come a long way since then,” he said, as calmly as his churning gut would allow. “I know he’s a bit rough in technique sometimes, but I would never say he suffers from a lack of  _focus_. He gets too caught up, if anything. You’ve seen the results of his work, sir.”

 

Bright hummed, but didn’t comment.

 

“He’s as promising a candidate for sergeant, for _inspector_ , as I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly.”

 

Seeming to weigh his words, Bright gave a short nod. “We’ll see how he goes. He can try for the Sergeant’s exam in the next batch; if he passes-“

 

“If he passes I want him as my bagman,” Thursday growled. “I want him as my bagman now, for that matter, but it’s good for him to polish his police work.”

 

Bright eyed him for a moment, and apparently decided he wasn’t being insubordinate. Or, at least, not too much so.

 

“We talked about this, Thursday.”

 

“No, _you_ talked. And I’m not saying there aren’t good reasons behind it, but I know him, and I know this isn’t what he needs.”

 

Bright sighed. “Either way, keep an eye on him in the next few weeks. I fear Gull may have stirred things best left unremembered.”

 

Bright had no idea, Thursday thought sourly.

 

\-----------

 

**9\. DeBryn**

 

“I wondered when you’d be by to see me,” DeBryn greeted him as he was about to knock. Thursday paused, caught off guard, and stood in the entrance to the pathologist’s office like an idiot for a moment.

 

“Did you?” he rumbled eventually.

 

DeBryn’s gaze grew a little more sharp. “Well, I was assuming you were here to talk about Morse, and about this bond the two of you seem to have, but if that’s not the case then-“ he stopped, seemingly satisfied by the open mouthed gape he’d elicited.

 

Thursday shut his jaw with a belated ‘humpf.’ “How did you know about that?” he asked warily. He’d not told anyone, aside from Win. It was possible it could have come from Morse, of course, but then Morse tended to clam up tighter than a duck’s arse when he was in trouble, and Thursday couldn’t see it being any different here.

 

“I do have eyes, Inspector, even though I wear spectacles. I’ve suspected for a week or so, but then after the way you behaved when Morse was injured, and again in Cronyn’s office…”

 

Thursday cast his mind back, trying to recall either incident. Certainly he’d been a bit frantic on the phone when DeBryn had rung to tell him that Morse had been stabbed, but he didn’t think that was unusual. And Cronyn’s office? Maybe he’d reached out and touched Morse, he couldn’t remember.

 

He gave a quick cough, and took a step forward. DeBryn gave ground in response, circling back around his desk and sitting behind it. “Anyway,” Thursday began, “I wanted to know a bit more about it. And about some things that came up with Cronyn.”

 

Leaning back in his chair, DeBryn eyed him with interest. “Do sit down,” he said, and Thursday took a seat on the cold, uncomfortable metal chair with a wince. “Now, how exactly can I help you?”

 

“Well,” Thursday reddened, and shuffled anxiously on the chair, the way an anxious schoolboy might. “Looks like I’ve got a bond, with Morse.”

 

“Yes,” the doctor said patiently.

 

“It’s been making things a bit odd,” Thursday continued, determined to get through this. “I mean, he’s my bag… He works for me. And he’s been – I think it’s been making him sick. And it’s been making me… And I’m  _married_. I can’t be thinking about him like this!”

 

The words ‘like this’ hung in the air long after he’d spoken them, and the heat in his face didn’t die down. The thought of DeBryn, of  _anyone_ , knowing he’d been lusting after Morse was absolutely humiliating.

 

“And did these thoughts of him only start when the bond did?” DeBryn asked finally, voice completely neutral. It made it a little easier, like he was actually visiting a doctor rather than confessing to a friend.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know when the bond started! I don’t know what the hell’s going on!” Thursday snapped irately. So maybe not easier after all. “I mean, I’ve always liked the lad.” He darted a look at DeBryn, making sure the other man knew what he meant by _liked_. “It’s just – more intense in the last while. And I can’t stop  _touching_  him!”

 

He ran a hand over his face and let out a ragged breath. “I feel like a dirty old man,” he confessed.

 

This stirred DeBryn out of his quiet contemplation. “Not at all,” he said firmly. “It’s perfectly natural. And bonds only form where there would be natural attraction, so it makes perfect sense. You’ve not done anything wrong; it’s just a pity it took so long for you both to own up to it.”

 

“What do I do now then?” As Debryn started to respond, and Thursday thought with a wince that he probably didn’t want to deal with a satirical answer, he clarified, “How do I get it to go away?”

 

This appeared to startle DeBryn exceedingly, he stared at Thursday as though completely stymied. “Go away?” he asked quietly.

 

Thursday swallowed. “I don’t entirely understand it, but, well, apparently you can break a bond? Make it stop? Morse has before; that’s one of the reasons Mason Gull was so worked up about him.”

 

The office was silent for a minute, and Thursday slipped a hand into his pocket to finger his pipe. DeBryn leaned forward glacially slowly, resting his elbows on the desk and leaning his chin into his hands.

 

“Morse broke a bond?”

 

The tone of his voice was unreadable, but made Thursday hesitate nonetheless. “No, the other way around. A girl he was engaged to at Oxford, she broke it off with him.” He paused again, said more slowly, “Gull was talking about it. He said some things that made it sound… And Morse, when I asked him about it afterwards, he just said he’d think about it. From what his file said it sounded like he got hurt by it last time. I wanted to know how to do it right.”

 

“How to do it right?” Still neutral, but Thursday became aware now of a great cavernous anger holding DeBryn taut.

 

He pulled forward, his own chair scraping against the floor with an unpleasant sound. DeBryn didn’t flinch, just continued to stare him down. “Look, obviously you know something I don’t. I know bugger all about bonds, why don’t you just  _tell me!_ ”

 

After another moment’s stalemate, DeBryn looked aside. Pulling his glasses off, he started to clean them absently on his lab coat. “I find myself feeling… rather protective of Morse,” he said in lieu of an apology, and Thursday nodded.

 

“Don’t we all,” he said wryly.

 

A nod, and then, “What you speak of, breaking a bond, it’s a terrible thing. There is no ‘right way’ to go about it. I’ll have to read up on it more, to know what it did to Morse, but you certainly can’t break this one. It would be… incredibly damaging,” DeBryn added carefully, and Thursday’s heart felt like it stopped beating.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

 

DeBryn hesitated. “Understand that this isn’t my area of specialty, Inspector.” He waited for Thursday’s dumb nod. “But I have colleagues I keep in touch with who – well, never mind. My point is, your brain develops a certain way, as your grow up. Yours, mine, anybody’s. Once a bond is formed, that changes; both in terms of chemistry but also physically to some degree. And  _that_  I have seen in my line of work; close up, as it were.

 

“Morse’s mind would have been irrevocably altered by having a bond, and when the bond was broken it couldn’t just go back to the way it used to be. It will have left him… I have no idea, actually. Studies are few and far between.”

 

“Unstable,” Thursday murmured, thinking of Bright’s words.

 

“I’m not sure that’s the way I would describe it,” DeBryn said sharply. Then sighed and waved a hand in apology. “Though he would have been, probably, for a while after.”

 

“Why’d she do it then, this girl?” Thursday asked suddenly. “If her brain was bonded and it would do her harm to undo it?”

 

“I have no idea, I’m afraid. I don’t think it affects the person doing the breaking, although, as I said, I’ll have to read up on it. Regardless, my original point was that Morse is now in a bond with you. To have that damage happen twice over,“ DeBryn shook his head, “I’m not sure he’d survive the shock of it, mentally or physically.”

 

“So we’re stuck with it?” Thursday said unhappily.

 

“If that’s how you want to look at it, yes.”

 

This new information settled into the gaps of his knowledge, knocking his plans askew. “I’d not hurt him for the world.”

 

“Which is the reason I thought it was worth having this conversation. Even before I knew about his past.”

 

“So what do I do?” The conversation had come around in a giant circle. “I love my family, but I can’t stop…” He paused, and admitted the truth silently before he could speak it out loud. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

 

“I would suggest talking to him,” DeBryn said. “As soon as possible. Especially if he  _is_  thinking about breaking it.”

 

“Right,” Thursday muttered. Because talking to Morse was always such an easy thing to do. The lad had been ducking him on this from the get go. At least he understood a little more now,  _why_. “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more batch to go. And I may have just started working on the sequel as well ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Number 14 assumes the extended ending of the original fic, in which Morse gets sick when they return from Cornwall.

**10\. Win**

 

“Well, that went… I’m not quite sure how that went,” Thursday admitted after Morse had left. Thursday had _kissed_ him, and damned if the lad hadn’t responded in a way which set his foolish old heart to thumping a million miles an hour.

 

“As well as it could have done, I suppose,” said Win, and she came to stand by his side.

 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a fond look. “I’d be lost without you.”

 

She was silent for a moment, and he winced inwardly at the thoughtlessness of his comment. She hadn’t said anything, but he knew she’d been worrying about him leaving her.

 

He carefully squeezed her closer, and said more slowly and with added gravity, “I’d be lost without you, love.”

 

This time she smiled slightly, and leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Our family’s growing bigger,” she murmured, and it was comments like that that made him love her so much. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone more generous or loving.

 

“I think Morse needs one. A family, that is. He’s not said much but…” Sometimes it was all in what you didn’t say.

 

“He’s a sweet lad. We’ll do just fine.”

 

After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced down at her again. “I know we talked about this, and we agreed that this was the only way that we could see things working out.” He stopped, uncertain of what he was trying to say.

 

“I want you with us, Fred, we love you. But this bond… it’s important too. He’s important too. And breaking it isn’t an option. To be honest, now that I’ve thought about it, I’d not get in the way of a bond, love. I think they’re special,” she said gently.

 

“You should have heard him earlier, still trying to talk me into it. Saying that maybe in a couple of _years_ he would have recovered enough to work again.”

 

She frowned now. “But I thought you said that Dr DeBryn said-

 

“I’m not going to tell Morse that. Christ. And even if there wasn’t that risk, I’d still not put him through it.”

 

“No,” she said softly. “Not with what the doctor said to me, either.”

 

He glanced at her startled, and she gave a little one sided shrug under his arm. “I was telling Morse – I went to see one, to find out more. They said breaking it really damages a person, so that they can’t feel anything anymore.”

 

Thursday inhaled deeply, and looked out into the darkness from where they stood in the front doorway. “From what he’s said, from what I’ve heard… He’s been more or less alright as long as I’ve known him, but he was in a bad way, before.”

 

“I’m not sure he is alright, even now,” she said thoughtfully. “He always seems so skittish. As though he can’t accept that anyone might be kind to him.”

 

It was on the tip of Thursday’s tongue to say that that might not have been caused by a broken bond, but he held himself back. Not right of him to be speculating on Morse behind his back.

 

“Do you really think we can make this work?” he asked pensively, and this time it was Win that squeezed him.

 

“Of course we can,” she said, and he believed her.

 

 ------------------------

 

**11\. DeBryn and Win**

 

It was jarring to hear DeBryn’s voice on the other end of the phone when he was at home; like when you couldn’t place someone you saw because they were in a completely different place than normal. The pathologist had never rung him at home before.

 

And the first words DeBryn spoke, after Thursday had said his name, were, “It’s about Morse.”

 

His hand grew slippery with sweat on the receiver, because DeBryn’s voice was serious, somber. His mind conjured up an image of Morse lying on a slab in the mortuary; of the doctor recognising him and realising that Thursday would have to be told.

 

Just a few days ago DeBryn had been encouraging him on in the bond with Morse. What if it was over, now?

 

That brought him up short. If Morse was dead, he’d have felt it surely. The lad couldn’t be dead.

 

He became aware of the loudness of his own breaths. Not much time must have passed, though, because DeBryn hadn’t said anything further. “Yes?” he managed.

 

“I’ve got him here. He’s a bit disoriented.”

 

“Disoriented,” Thursday repeated numbly. Then, “ _What_ _happened?_ ”

 

There was a short sigh, and Thursday could suddenly picture the other man pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I should have started with that. I picked Morse up earlier; he was out in the cold all day and fast developing hypothermia. He’s at my house now, and he’s fine – I’ve got him warmed up, and he’s starting to talk some sort of sense again. New symptoms, it seems.”

 

“Right,” Thursday said, feeling like his brain was still trying to catch up. “Right. Your house?”

 

“You’re very welcome to come over, if you’d like to see him for yourself. I think he’ll have to stay here tonight.”

 

“Yes, I’ll come. Thank you,” he added belatedly.

 

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Win was hovering nearby; she’d come out to the hall about halfway through the conversation. “It’s Morse, love,” Thursday said gravely. “He’s had a bit of a turn. Dr DeBryn is looking after him, but he thinks it’s something with the bond.”

 

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she nodded. “Is he alright?”

 

“I don’t know,” Thursday said, voice rough, and then gathered himself. “Yes. Yes, he’s alright, DeBryn said he would be alright. I’m going to go over there.”

 

His coat was buried under Sam’s; he pulled it on while Win picked up his hat. “Do you need anything?” she asked. “Maybe you should take some-“

 

“It’ll be fine,” he said, but smiled at her fussing. She handed over the hat, and he turned it in his fingers. “I’m sorry, I was just-“

 

“Worrying.” She smiled back, expression fond. “I know you. Take care of him then.”

 

He paused in the doorway, and turned. There were so many things he wanted to say, and he’d be rubbish at saying any of them. “I love you.”

 

Her head jerked in a quick nod, and her smile was shaded by sadness. “You take care of him, Fred.”

 

A look passed between them which answered the question he hadn’t asked, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake with this, couldn’t take the chance that there had been a misunderstanding. “Win, love. If he needs – that is, if I have to…”

 

“There’ll be breakfast on the table for you when you get back, Fred,” she interrupted him dauntlessly. “And… and as long as he’s feeling better I’ll be expecting him for lunch tomorrow. Dinner too.” Her eyes were bright, and oh, she had the heart of a lion, did his Win.

 

“Yes, Mrs Thursday,” he murmured, which elicited a quick curve of her lips. 

 

“Goodnight, Fred.”

 

“Goodnight, love.”

 

\---------------------

 

**12\. Win**

 

He always loved talking to his wife. Always. But ringing her that morning from Cornwall was the first time in the whole messed up affair that he felt a true tinge of illicit guilt. He’d run his hands all over Morse’s naked back last night; felt oil-slick lines and muscle under his fingers. It had only been a massage - technically it was less like cheating than the kisses that had come on other days - but his mind had decided to drawn a line.

 

He’d touched Morse with intent, after all, and he was old fashioned enough to consider it cheating - no matter what bollocks the law said about life bonds.

 

Yes, he and Win had agreed on this. Yes, they’d both known what it would involve. And certainly when he was planning coming out here his dick had been very happy with the whole idea.

 

Jesus, he couldn’t get the little noises Morse had made last night out of his head. And he hadn’t even touched the lad properly yet.

 

“Morning, love,” he said when Win answered the phone, and tried not to let any guilt come through in his voice.

 

“Morning Fred!” She sounded pleased to hear from him. How much of it was a front? God, she and Morse were too alike in some ways. Although Morse couldn’t act to save his life, while Thursday suspected his wife was rather too good at putting on a brave face.

 

“How are the kids?”

 

“Oh, fine. They actually got off on time this morning, even without you wrestling them out of the door.”

 

He gave a short chuckle, and there was a moment’s quiet. “How’s the cottage?” she asked. “You hadn’t been in yet when you rang last night.”

 

“Oh, fine, fine. Nice place, bit nippy though. Haven’t tried lighting a fire yet. I meant to say - thank you for the card.”

 

“It was a bit last minute, sorry.”

 

“No, it’s lovely. Even Sam, hmm?”

 

“Yes, I didn’t even have to give him a talking to. I think he’d getting used to it. It helps that he liked Morse, before.”

 

“It meant a lot to Morse, that he wrote in it. Meant a lot to me.” He paused, coughed uncomfortably. “Weather looks alright today, maybe we’ll go for a wander.”

 

“That’s good. Bit miserable here. What’s the place like?”

 

“Didn’t get much of a look at the town in the dark, but you know we went to one of the pubs last night for dinner. Not as good as your cooking,” he teased.

 

“How’s Morse?”

 

“He’s fine. Talking to me again.”

 

“What? You didn’t say anything last night – what did you do?”

 

“I’m joking love, everything’s fine.” The silence grew a little frosty. “Well, I might have blamed him a bit, for you being upset yesterday.”

 

“Fred, you didn’t!”

 

“Well, how was I to know what happened!”

 

“He was so lovely - giving me a hug, trying to make me a cup of tea! What did you say to him?”

 

Thursday sighed, and his voice turned placating. “It really doesn’t matter, we’re all sorted out. I’ve learned my lesson; I won’t go assuming anything without asking.”

 

A moment’s pause then, “See that you don’t. And put him on the phone, I want to say hello.”

 

Wanted to check he was really alright, more like. “Alright,” he said, and then called for Morse. “I love you.”

 

 

\---------------------------------

 

 

**13\. Thursday**

 

Thursday stood staring at the doorway Morse had just left through for more than a minute before he shook himself and reached for the vegetables. Once he had a bowl full of water in the sink, he scrubbed the carrots and potatoes industriously. His hands quickly wrinkled in the cold water, and he when he drew them back out he stared down at them measuringly.

 

His fingers were thick and calloused, his hands rough and broad; a copper’s hands. Showing their age, too.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered to himself.

 

He carried the vegetables to the table, started chopping.

 

Morse, was young, stupidly young, and more like some figure out of a painting than a real man Fred could aspire to have his hands on. But he had. And he would.

 

“And what the hell are you going to do?”

 

He wanted to make love to Morse tonight, show the lad how good this thing between them could feel. Morse’s murmured confession the night before, that he’d never been with another man, had stirred a possessive surge in Thursday which had remained riled up ever since. He would be the first to touch Morse like that. It wasn’t something that should be important – when he thought about it he felt ridiculous – but it still made his cock twitch to think about it.

 

The most important thing was to make Morse feel good. The lad had been a bit shy of things between them, but whenever they got started he seemed to lose himself and turn into a fey, untameable thing. Oh, to wind him up and let him go, that would be a thing to see.

 

“Don’t scare him off. Maybe another massage?”

 

Which brought to mind all sorts of scenarios. The way that the lad had pressed into the mattress the night before, the sweet curve of the top of his buttocks, had almost combined to overcome Thursday’s instinct to take things slowly. Only the swell of drowsiness – seeing Morse give a sleepy hum and struggle to open his eyes - had cooled Thursday’s ardour. But what he’d _wanted_ to do was pull down those loose pyjama bottoms and tease his fingers over Morse’s arse; finger him open until the lad begged to be fucked. Ram his cock inside until Morse came apart and moaned for him.

 

Oh yes, he had all sorts of plans.

 

Slow, though. He’d said slow. “Don’t even know what he’ll like,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t go counting your chickens.”

 

Try a few things, maybe, see what Morse wanted. Let the lad lead, if he was feeling like it. Thursday rather hoped Morse would let him do so though, because he’d had so many fantasies about the lad that he wanted to carry out.

 

He heard the water start to drain from the bath upstairs as he put the potatoes on to boil.

 

“Slow,” he promised himself, and then fished a candle out of the cupboard to put on the table before he could talk himself out of it.

 

 

 ---------------

 

**14\. DeBryn**

It was the first moment of calm he’d had in hours. Thursday had no idea how this day had gone so wrong, how the two of them coming back early for a case had transformed into Morse being terrifyingly ill.

 

Morse was nestled against his side, now, long limbs tucked in tightly against Thursday rather than their usual sprawl. It was as though the lad’s body was trying to maintain every bit of contact with Thursday that it could; likely the doctor was right then, about that helping.

 

God, the sight of Morse writhing, whimpering in some unknown pain, sweaty and gasping for air, would stay with Thursday forever.

 

“He’s just fallen asleep,” he said, as DeBryn’s shadow darkened the doorway.

 

Max nodded. “I’ve put everything on to wash, he can borrow some of my things in the meantime.”

 

They both looked at Morse. His face was pale, excepting two flushed spots of colour on his cheeks. His eyes were moving rapidly below closed eyelids; dreams, Thursday wondered, or nightmares?

 

“He’ll be alright now?” Thursday asked.

 

DeBryn sighed, and came further into the room. “I really don’t-“

 

“-know. Yes, you said. What good are you then?” It was supposed to be flippant, a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. DeBryn’s eyes hardened in response.

 

“Out of the two of us here, I am not the one responsible for his condition!”

  
  
“Well how was I supposed to know?” Thursday said, somewhat bellicosely. “Trying to get anything out of Morse is like squeezing water out of a stone!”

 

“I-“ DeBryn visibly restrained himself. “You’re right of course, and he has equal responsibility in your relationship. But this can’t happen again.”

 

“It’d better bloody not,” murmured Thursday. “I don’t know if my heart could survive another round.”

 

That surprised a small smile from DeBryn, and the tension in the room eased.

 

“I’m worried,” Thursday admitted after a moment. “About him coming to live with us. If just coming back here was enough to set him off, then being in the house with all of us…”

 

DeBryn crossed the room and sat down on the chair at the side of the room. He seemed to think his words through carefully before he spoke. “Morse is a sensible man.” Thursday snorted, but DeBryn held up a hand. “And a clever one. But he’s operating in a situation entirely outside of his understanding. You have… how many years of marriage? In which you’ve lived together, made things work, found compromises. Been loved. Morse’s last relationship was disastrous, and broke more than his heart. Whether consciously or not, it’s likely to be what he expects now.”

 

“You’re saying he needs reassurance.” DeBryn eyed him steadily. “I’ve thought that myself,” Thursday admitted.

 

“Hmm.”

 

“But I’ve given him that, as much as I’m able. He just gets things in his head that I couldn’t possibly predict, and then I don’t know to reassure him about them! And, well, we don’t know how a lot of things will go.”

 

“I know. I’m not sure what to advise, to be honest. You’ll have to find a way of getting him to open up. It may just need time.”

 

“As long as nothing else happens in the meantime,” Thursday filled in dryly.

 

“Indeed.”

 

The feel of Morse’s quiet breaths was soothing, and Thursday let himself be lulled by them for a moment. It was enough to let him voice something he’d been thinking over for a long time. “You think I’m doing the wrong thing, don’t you?” At DeBryn’s enquiring look, “You think I should have left Win, and just be with Morse now.”

 

The sound of the words leaving his own mouth was shocking, and Thursday closed his eyes and sucked in a breath as though absorbing a blow.

 

The doctor leaned back in his chair, and his gaze wandered the room. His lack of answer confirmed every one of Thursday’s assumptions about his feelings, and a wave of defensive outrage rose. DeBryn spoke before he could though. “It’s not an easy question, and doesn’t have an easy answer. You and Morse have chosen this route because you believe it will cause the least harm, but I’m not sure that’s true. In the long term, surely this path will lead to insecurity and unhappiness for everyone involved. And with Morse there’s the risk of more than that.”

 

Thursday gave the slightest jerk of his head.

 

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” DeBryn said.

 

“No, it’s… I just, I couldn’t even contemplate leaving them, when all this came out. It wasn’t even an option.”

 

“And now?” the doctor asked shrewdly.

 

“I don’t know.” And the words were such a betrayal. “What I have with Morse is so real. It’s made me feel…” he shook his head, unable to find the right words. “But I can’t leave Win, I  _can’t_. I can’t do that to her.” He looked down at Morse, and gently stroked matted strands of hair back from the lad’s forehead. “Except you’re right,” he continued quietly. “I’m not sure I can do this either, to either of them. They don’t deserve it.”

 

“An impossible situation.”

 

“Yes.” Thursday gave a brief, unhappy laugh. “Morse called it. Knew it would be like this, saw all the problems. I just didn’t want to believe it, I was so sure we’d be able to work things out.”

 

“Maybe you will,” DeBryn offered, but it felt like false hope.

 

“But the only other option he gave was breaking the bond,” Thursday said softly. “And I couldn’t do that. Maybe not to anyone, but, God, not to Morse.”

 

“No.”

 

“I love him,” Thursday said abruptly. “I’m a right idiot, but I do.”

 

“Have you told Morse that?” DeBryn asked. Thursday hesitated, and that was apparently answer enough. “You might want to start with that, when it comes to the reassurance and communication.”

 

“Not an easy thing to just come out with,” Thursday grumbled.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

**+1 Jakes (crack)**

 

“Morse is _what?_ ”

 

“Bonded to me,” Thursday repeated patiently. “Look, I can see as how this would come as a bit of a shock – didn’t half blindside _me_ – but we have to get on and-“

 

“No.” Jakes held up a hand to forestall him. “Something right funny’s going on. You’re trying to tell me you’ve got a life bond with _Morse?_ ”

 

“That’s right.” Thursday could feel himself getting a bit defensive.

 

“A life bond!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But it was only yesterday you were in here saying HE WAS A BLOODY _CAT!_ ”

 

Jakes gave him an incredulous, slightly angry look, and then stormed away muttering to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Done. Now if only I can get them all to behave in the sequel.


End file.
